“On purpose, I think,” Marie said, and both young women laughed.
Judith smiled, thinking about the rich, pretty trio making mischief away from home. It was a world she’d never known, but imagined it as an enchanted life. And knew that it was no preparation for reality.
“I met Moira at the graveyard,” Judith said. “She was putting flowers on the grave of a young Italian man.”
The young women laughed again. “Davey Piazza was her personal assistant,” Beth replied. “She met him when he was playing in a rock band in Edinburgh, but the group broke up soon afterwards, and somehow he ended up in St. Fergna at loose ends. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to play the drums or race sports cars. Moira felt sorry for him—he had wrenching dark eyes—so she offered him a job.”
“And bought him a sports car,” Marie added. “He drove it over a cliff just beyond the village.”
“My goodness!” Judith exclaimed. “What’s the average age around here? About twenty-five?”
The remark had a sobering effect on both young women. “Well,” Beth began, “several people have died young. My brother Frankie was sickly from birth. My mum worried so about him. She’d waited so long to have children, and even consulted astrologers. She still does, in fact.”
“A fertility doctor would have been more to the point,” Judith said.
To her dismay, both young women again went into peals of laughter. “You Americans are always so practical,” Marie said after overcoming her latest giggle spasm. “Beth’s mum enjoys hocus-pocus. But she’s a wizard in the kitchen. You should taste her marmalade.”
“Maybe,” Beth said, “you have. She’s always giving it away.”
Judith remembered the jars of jams and condiments marked with the letter G. “Oh—yes, I thought the initial stood for Mrs. Gibbs.”
“No, for Mrs. Gunn,” Beth said, and looked at her diamond-studded watch. “It’s after seven-thirty. Want another, Marie?”
“Certainly,” Marie said.
“Mrs. Flynn?” Beth inquired.
“No, thank you. But your husband’s Scotch is wonderful.”
“Oh, he runs a fabulous distillery.” Beth poured refills from a cut-glass decanter. The Venetian chandelier over the bar created a sparkling effect on the glassware, the diamonds in Beth’s watch, the sheen of the satin trim on her tiered georgette halter dress, and even the luster of her fair skin. Judith felt as if she were watching a princess tend bar.
“What time do you expect Will to get here?” Beth asked Marie.
“For dinner,” Marie replied. “Poor man, he has to work on Sundays. It’s not fair.”
“You mean,” Judith said, “he has to go into the office? I understand that Blackwell’s headquarters is in Inverness.”
“It is,” Marie said, “but he’s working at home. He said he’d leave our house shortly before eight. I got here before the tide was all the way out. Poor Gibbs had to come fetch me in his funny little boat.”
Settled in with their second drinks, the young women began to talk of clothes. Judith had finished her own cocktail. She had no excuse to linger. Bidding Beth and Marie good evening, she left the drawing room.
Chuckie was in the corridor, rolling oranges on the stone floor.
“Hullo,” he said glumly. “Are you drunk?”
“Not in the least,” Judith replied, filled with compassion for the young man. “Where did you get the lovely oranges?”
“My father brought them from Spain,” Chuckie replied. “He says they’re good for me, but I never eat them.”
“Say, Chuckie, could you give me a quick tour of the castle?”
His face brightened. “Really? You want to see my secret places?”
“Sure. Where do we go first?”
“Outside,” Chuckie replied.
“Shouldn’t we collect your oranges?”
“No. Someone else will pick them up.” He paused, his small, bright eyes darting from orange to orange, a total of six scattered along the corridor’s cold stones. “My father’s very rich. Why doesn’t he hire more people here? Only old Gibbs and Gibbs until summer. I’d like a valet and a groom and…an orange picker-upper.” He smiled broadly.
“I thought you didn’t live here all the time,” Judith said.
“I don’t.” He turned slightly sullen. “Didn’t, I should say. But the last year or so, I’ve been kept here. I’m bored.” He stared at the oranges. “Oh, come on, let’s do the tour.” Chuckie scurried down the corridor and waited for Judith by the entrance.
“Hurry up!” Chuckie called. “You’re slow. You’d never escape the enemy marauders.”
“I’m kind of crippled,” Judith responded. “I have an artificial hip.”
“You do?” Chuckie frowned. “I thought you were normal.”
“Nobody’s normal,” Judith said. “The worst abnormalities,” she went on as she joined him by the door, “are inside.”
“But then nobody knows,” Chuckie argued.
“Oh yes they do,” Judith assured him. “They behave badly and cause trouble.”
Chuckie’s long face revealed intense concentration as he considered the statement. “You mean, like Harry?”
“Harry? Do you mean what happened to him or what he did?”
“Harry was mean,” Chuckie declared, leaning against the heavy door to open it. “He was nasty to me and unkind to Moira. He deserved getting blown up.”
“Nobody deserves to be killed,” Judith pointed out.
“Yes they do,” Chuckie insisted. “I’ll show you.”
He led the way into the courtyard. Judith felt the damp air on her cheek as soon as she moved outside. The only light came from a half dozen electric lanterns that hung from stanchions along the stone walls.
Chuckie pointed to their left. “See there, by the corner?”
Judith peered into the darkness at a wall fountain where water spewed from the mouth of a stone face resembling Neptune. “Yes?”
“That’s where the well was in the old days,” Chuckie said. “Sometimes bad people were thrown in to drown. Served them right.”
Judith refrained from making a comment.
“The guest rooms are where the barracks used to be,” Chuckie went on, strolling ahead and kicking at an occasional pebble. “There was a postern gatehouse in the old days when the castle was still connected to the land. It led to the barracks, where you’re staying now. Have you heard the horses stomping in their stalls at night?”
“Not yet,” Judith replied. She was tempted to say that she had, in fact, heard a voice saying “Open the gate” and “Open the window.” But she decided not to play into what appeared to be Chuckie’s fantasy.
“You saw the chapel,” Chuckie said. “Did my father make you go?”
“Of course not,” Judith replied. “I always attend Sunday Mass.”
“You do? Why?”
“I want to receive the sacraments,” Judith replied. “They give me the grace to try to lead a good life.”
“That’s bosh,” Chuckie declared. “I wager my father told you that.”
“I’ve been going to Mass since I was a child,” Judith said. “I didn’t meet your father until yesterday.”
Chuckie pointed to the second story of the castle’s west wing. “He and bonnie Beth live there, in the apartments for important people.”
“Where do you live?” Judith inquired.
“Wherever I want,” Chuckie replied. He gestured at the central part of the castle. “That was the great hall. It still is, in a way. It’s used for meetings. The kitchen adjoins it.”
“What kind of meetings?”
“Any kind. Sometimes my father holds them there. Sometimes strangers rent them. They go there and plot terrible things. Last month the Rotary Club came to conspire.”
“The Rotary Club?” Judith echoed, wondering if she’d misheard.
Chuckie nodded. “They came from Inverness for the weekend. The world is full of evil.”
“The Rotary Club does good things,” Judith pointed out.
“That’s bosh, too.” Chuckie nudged Judith’s arm. “Look up to the top of the wall,” he urged in an excited voice. “See the twin towers?”